


Across Battlefields

by Wryte



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Children, Crossfaction Romance, F/F, Family, Female Orc - Freeform, Shaman - Freeform, Warrior - Freeform, Wholesome, female human - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:43:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23011702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wryte/pseuds/Wryte
Summary: Lesbian vignettes from the Warcraft universe.
Relationships: Female Human(s)/Female Orc(s) (Warcraft), Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Lokka & Saeris - Child’s Play

Saeris watched the orc creep through the underbrush, clearly confidant that he hadn’t been seen yet. It was adorable that he really thought his amateur attempt at stealth could work on a veteran warrior like her. The human woman had cut her teeth hunting shadowmaw panthers in Stranglethorn, learned to find invisible wraiths in Northrend, and even gotten the drop on Shado-pan monks in their own monastery. This was child’s play, especially with his ill-trained wolf snuffling along behind him. 

Still pretending not to have seen him, Saeris casually shifted her weight, as if simply moving it from one leg to the other. In truth, she was readying a defensive stance to counter his charge. The wooden hilt of her sword hung loose in her grip, giving the illusion of carelessness, tempting him to strike. He would only be left marveling at her speed and strength if he did.

He’d stopped moving. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, just crouching in the weeds, watching her, as if waiting for some-

“Clever girl!” Saeris yelped, spinning on her heel too late to stop the second orc from crashing into her chest with a reedy battle shout of, “Lok’tar!”

She shrieked as the first orc lunged to join the dogpile on top of her, adding all 50-odd pounds of him to his twin sister’s, and her screams became intercut with both their and her own giggles as the pair of five year olds tickled her mercilessly. Their four-legged companions were not far behind, the two frostwolf puppies excitedly running in circles around them, barking and licking Saeris’ defenseless face. 

“Stop, stop!” she wheezed through the laughter. “I yield!”

“Korra, Draedok, ‘stop’ means ‘stop,’” their mother, Lokka, chided them when the tiny twin terrors showed not an ounce of mercy between them. She was nearby, lounging happily against the side of her own frostwolf howler as the mighty beast snoozed in the afternoon sun. Lokka yawned, clearly about to join her mount in dreams. 

The kids started to climb off of Saeris, but with a grin she snatched one up under each arm and hoisted them into the air as she rolled to her feet, agile as a cat. They shrieked with delight as she flipped them up onto her shoulders, letting them hang off her arms by their knees and giggle madly as she spun them around upside down. She might be two heads shorter than an orc - puny, even by human standards - but she was every bit as strong as one. 

“Please don’t make them throw up,” Lokka chuckled, still not opening her eyes. 

Saeris smiled, equal parts amused and delighted that the great General Stormhowl, whose name was whispered in fear by the enemies of the Horde from one corner of Azeroth to another, could identify the game Saeris was playing with her children just by the sounds they made. 

Her smile turned mischievous as she knelt to let the kids down, and whispered in their ears. In short order, their faces lit up like the Feast of Winter’s Veil was tomorrow, and they nodded vigorously. 

“Many whelps!” Saeris shouted, shot-putting Draedok toward his mother. “Handle it!” she added, sending Korra giggle-screaming after her brother. 

Lokka’s eyes snapped open with a flash of blue energy, and as the children fell toward her, the wind burst to life, catching them in miniature cyclones that spun them safely to the ground. Lying on their backs, brother and sister pumped their fists in the air and wheezed “Again! Again!” through their panting for breath. 

“Maybe later. Nap time now,” the shaman said, scooping her children up before lying back against her wolf. She raised an eyebrow at Saeris, and the human was all too happy to comply with the unspoken order. Taking a moment to gather up the toy wooden swords that had been abandoned during the tickle-ambush and deposit them by the group’s bags, Saeris sat down next to Lokka, and scooted in until they were pressed together, and Lokka passed Draedok to her. Saeris craned her neck to reach for Lokka’s cheek, but her lover met her halfway, sharing a brief kiss with her before she settled back into the wall of fur that surrounded them. Saeris sighed, feeling the warmth of the sun beat down on her and her family as they snuggled together in the crook of a slumbering frostwolf. For the moment, the world was perfect. Which was about the most you could ever ask for on Azeroth.


	2. Keeping Warm

Moro smelled whatever was coming before Lokka heard it. It was twilight in the Storm Peaks, and after a long day of trekking through the deep snows and battling storm dwarves, Lokka had found a sheltered crevice to make camp and recover for more of the same tomorrow. Her campsite was well away from any dwarven, vry’kul, or other hostile groups she was aware of, but as the wind shifted, her frostwolf mount perked her head up and sniffed the air. Lokka froze in the middle of trying down her tent’s guy wire, and reached for her axes when she heard the crunch of snow underfoot. She turned to see a figure step through the bit of brush she had scavenged up as a poor blind against the rest of the valley beyond her hiding spot. They were Alliance - a human woman, heavy plate flickering in and out of sight as the wind whipped at her cloak, wielding a massive sword as a walking stick. 

Lokka was on her hands and knees, one hand hovering over the haft of her nearer weapon where it rested beside the fire. The snicker snack of the flames and the wailing wind between the towering peaks were the only sounds as their eyes met, and Lokka’s breathing grew heavy with anticipation. 

The human’s eyes shifted to her axes and back. Lokka flexed her fingers in the air. She was bigger and likely stronger, but she was also prone, half out of her armor, and while the elements were strong here, they were also unfamiliar, and might not answer her call. She would fight if she had to, but would rather drive the intruder off without it coming to blows. 

The human surprised her, though. She stabbed her sword into the ground, and held up both hands in a gesture of pacification. Without breaking eye contact, she nodded toward the fire, and mimed leaning over it to warm herself. 

Lokka breathed deeply, trying to center herself as her mind raced. She was a firm believer in Warchief Thrall’s vision of peace between the Horde and Alliance, but their cooperation in the war against the Scourge had been rocky at best since the disaster at the Wrathgate. She wanted to trust the human, but knew she would be risking a great deal to do so. 

Moro made the decision for her. The wolf rose from where she had been lying beside the fire, padded over to the human, and, without hesitation, started sniffing her face. The human was taken aback by the massive beast’s approach for a moment, but nervously started to pat her head, and a moment later found herself on her back as the canine several times her size went into full “pet me” mode. In short order the human was laughing and rubbing Moro’s face, stroking her ears, and squishing her cheeks while trying to avoid the frostwolf’s tongue. 

Lokka straightened to her feet with a sigh, and went to rescue the human. Shoving Moro away with a tired command to go lie down, she offered the human a hand up. The human took it gratefully, and Lokka was surprised by the force with the human pulled back as she helped her up. The gap in their strength might not be so wide, or even favor Lokka, after all. Her second surprise was in realizing just how small the human was once they were standing face to face. Lokka could normally look over a human’s head anyway, but this one didn’t even come up to her chin despite appearing to be fully grown. It was still close enough for the human’s sudden smile to knock Lokka out of her thoughts and right onto her metaphorical backside as she realized how beautiful the woman was. Her skin was darker than a mag’har orc’s, and her fierce eyes, sparkling green even in the dying twilight, stared back at her with an open friendliness that left Lokka totally flatfooted. 

Realizing she was blushing, Lokka turned back to the campsite and hoped that the human hadn’t noticed as she busied herself with finishing setting up camp. In short order she had the tent secured, tea water boiling, and a chunk of mammoth meat she was struggling to figure out what to do with other than spit it over the fire and wait for it to turn black. 

The human was watching her, she was keenly aware. The other woman had been kneeling on the other side of the fire, warming herself in silence since being let in. She had also been watching Lokka the whole time. Not maliciously, the orc reassured herself. Not waiting for a moment to attack with that massive blade that rested at her side. Just… watching. Maybe out of curiosity, or just because there was nothing else to look at? Lokka tried to put it out of her mind, but that just made her even more aware of the other woman’s gaze, and she almost dropped her dinner right into the embers. 

She froze as the human moved, her muscles seizing up as the woman came around the fire next to her. The human looked her in the eye, and gestured an offer to help. Lokka shrugged and plopped the bloody hunk into hands, ridding herself of the offending foodstuff before it could embarrass her any further, and went to dig the tea leaves out of her pack. Tea, at least, was too simple even for her culinary incompetence to screw up. 

By the time she turned back, the human had trimmed the hunk of mammoth into two neat steaks with a dagger and tossed the scraps to Moro. Lokka’s frying pan was resting in a bed of coals instead of on the rock she’d left it on, with a chunk of fatty gristle starting to sizzle in the bottom. The human discarded the charred gristle into the fire where it crackled and popped, and was overtaken by the hissing sizzle as the human lay the steaks in the pan. Using the hem of her cloak as a mitt, the human flipped the steaks with expert flicks of her wrist, searing the outsides a crusty dark brown before returning the pan to the fire and leaving it there. Lokka frowned, worried that her dinner was being annihilated, but the human seemed to know what she was doing, so she decided to trust in her and poured the tea instead. The human accepted her cup with another smile that Lokka had fortunately braced herself for, or she would have had third degree burns on her foot to deal with. 

The human pulled the pan from the fire after a little longer, the smell making Lokka’s stomach churn ravenously. She started to reach for one, but the human held up a hand. She scooped a handful of fresh snow off a nearby rock and dropped it into the pan, swirling the resulting water around a bit until it turned red with the deglazing, and poured the liquid over the meat. Then, she gestured for Lokka to dig in. 

For lacking any seasoning, it was the best thing Lokka had eaten in days. She didn’t bother with utensils, picking the steak up in her bare hands and biting in with abandon. The meat was perfectly rare, warm but red and tender all the way through, and she moaned happily as the juices ran down her chin. The human giggled and did the same, and warmth spread through Lokka’s body as she devoured the rest of the meal in just a few more bites. As she licked the last of the juices from her fingers, she regarded the human again as she finished her steak. She was obviously another adventurer like herself, but she didn’t seem to have any equipment but what she was wearing and her sword; not even a knapsack. No one could last for long in Northrend without supplies, certainly not without something more than a traveling cloak to protect them from the cold of the night. 

They remained beside the fire in silence for a while longer, letting the meal settle in their stomachs as the dying light vanished fully behind the mountains, and the fire dwindled. As it reduced itself to a deep orange flicker, barely licking above the charred wood that fed it, the human stood up with a sigh. Lokka watched her ready herself to depart with a pang of regret. It had been days since Lokka had encountered another living being besides Moro that didn’t want to kill her, and the human woman had been more than pleasant company for the evening, even if their language barrier prevented any conversation. 

She was wrestling with the idea of inviting the human to stay the night in her camp when the woman bent to retrieve her sword, and doubled over with a sharp hiss, clutching her side. 

Lokka sprang to the human’s side in a single bound, gently but firmly pushing her hands aside to get a look. Something had ripped through the side of her armor and given her a deep wound; not immediately life-threatening, but debilitatingly painful. Now it made sense. The human must have been attacked by something and lost the rest of her gear. In the Storm Peaks, simply dropping your pack in the wrong place could mean never seeing it again. 

That sealed it. The woman was injured, and night was falling swiftly. Turning her out into the snow now would be a death sentence. 

The human gave a little yelp but didn’t struggle as Lokka scooped the smaller woman up in her arms and carried her back to the tent. The inside of the shelter was still cold, but one of the first things Lokka had done after arriving in Northrend was to reinforce the canvas walls with shoveltusk hides. She gave a whistle as she lay the human down on her bedroll and a moment later Moro padded through the flap, turned around three times, and settled down on the yeti fur that made up the floor. The heat of their bodies would soon warm the tent, but until then, she called out across the planes, and was answered by a tiny fire elemental appearing in the lantern that hung from the support poles. In exchange for its service, the shaman fed a few sticks of tinder into the lamp before turning her attention back to her patient. 

The human lay where she had left her, propping herself up on her elbows and looking back at her with a nervous smile. Lokka suddenly realized how her actions might be coming across differently than intended, and pushed the awareness that the human didn’t seem to be objecting aside for the moment. She knelt beside the other woman, pulling her cloak away from her injured side again to get a better look at it in the light. 

Healing wasn’t her specialty, but the other woman’s wound was well within her capabilities. Wishing that they had a language in common, she tried to mime that the human should take her armor off. The human frowned at first, but seemed to pick up her meaning quickly, and started undoing the leather straps that held her plate armor in place. When trying to reach for the last one caused her to recoil in pain again, Lokka did it for her, and gingerly removed the breastplate. The human didn’t resist. Instead, she slowly, questioningly, started to peel off her undershirt while looking into Lokka’s eyes. The orc’s gaze flickered to the bare skin the human was revealing. Yes. Yes, they should definitely remove the shirt. Here, let her do it. Her fingers were trembling as they hooked under the hem, her nails scraping gently against smooth skin, eliciting a soft intake of breath from her patient. 

Lokka forced her eyes to stay on the human’s wound, fully aware that her breathing had grown slow and heavy even as her heart was racing, and she distracted herself by reaching across the planes of existence with her mind. Finding one of her allies on the place of water, she rested a hand against the human’s side, and called upon the healing power of the waves, channeling it through her limb and into the injury. Beneath her fingers, flesh began to knit, necrosis withered away, and fresh skin sealed everything shut as it was meant to be. 

As the power of the elemental plane receded from her, Lokka admired her handiwork. The human’s side was good as new; beautiful brown skin, smooth and soft to the touch, layered over hard, powerful muscle. At last, she let her eyes wander across sculpted abs, defined shoulders and biceps, and a heaving chest. Her eyes met the human’s again. Spirits, she had such beautiful eyes, which now gazed back at her, gratitude and amazement sparkling under heavy lids. Lokka knew she was letting her hand linger too long on the human’s side. The wound was healed. She should take her hand back. She would do that any moment now. Just… lift her hand. Any second now. 

She was absolutely, one hundred percent actually going to do that before the human put her hand over hers, and moved it up. 

“Saeris,” the human whispered, like the wind carrying a forbidden secret to Lokka’s ears. 

“Lokka,” she answered, voice low and rough like shifting boulders as she leaned in. 

The little elemental in the lantern finished its snack and departed for its home plane as Saeris melted into her embrace with a little gasp. 

It was very important to keep warm in Northrend.


	3. Victory

Saeris’s breath appeared as a puff of heavy steam as she swung down from her flameward hippogryph’s saddle. Even riding a creature born of the Firelands provided little comfort from the freezing winds of Frostfire Ridge as they tore through the heavy furs of her winter cloak. She rubbed her hands vigorously against the beast’s feathers, as much to steal a few more moments of its raging body heat as to reward its faithful bearing of her all the way across the sea from Nagrand; the safest route for a human to reach her destination without being detected by the Horde. 

Wor’gol lay below her, protected from both the harsh elements and unknowing eyes at the bottom of a gorge in southwestern Frostfire. It had taken a couple favors to learn its location from an SI: 7 agent, as she knew Lokka wouldn’t have shared it. 

_“But why not?” she asked, incredulous, when Lokka told her she wasn’t going back to her ancestral homeland. “You’re General Stormhowl. You’re a Frostwolf. You’d be perfect for getting them on the Horde’s side. What’s Vol’jin thinking?”_

_“The Warchief thought the exact same thing as you,” Lokka sighed. They were sitting at the command table in a half-finished Horde garrison in Talador, talking over a lunch of braised riverbeast. Saeris had just learned a local recipe for the fatty meat, and having learned her girlfriend was in the region, was making a special visit to show off. “He wanted me to command Frostwall. I practically had to beg him to give me this outpost instead.”_

Saeris’s feet crunched up to the knee as she hiked through the snow drifts toward the main road into Wor’gol, anxiously glancing around the formations of dark, foreboding rock that shrouded the village. She hadn’t seen any sign of sentries, but she had no doubt they were there, and that they’d seen her arrival. A flying, flaming bird-horse had a way of being noticed. As long as they didn’t attack before she saw them, that was fine. 

The snow thinned out as she reached the road and followed it west as it descended into the gorge, shivering as much with anticipation as from the cold. She didn’t get far before a sharp whistle signalled her to stop in her tracks, and she raised her hands in peace as a mag’har in dark blue furs rose from a crevice in the rocks that Saeris still had trouble seeing now that she knew where it was. The orc had a bow drawn on her, but hadn’t loosed his missile yet. She took that as a good sign. 

_“I’d have thought you’d be thrilled,” she said, slouching back on her chair until it tipped back on its rear legs. “Your clan’s ancient home? The heroes you grew up hearing about? Your parents?” She rocked forward, planting the chair’s feet and her own boots with a thud. “They’re still alive in this timeline, aren’t they?”_

_Lokka groaned at the ceiling. “Of course they’re alive. That’s exactly why I can’t go back.”_

_Saeris blew a raspberry. “What, are you afraid of some kind of time shenanigans winking you out of existence? I’m pretty sure the fact that we’re here in the first place proves the bronze dragons are pulling their time travel rules out of their tail holes.”_

_“Of course the dragons are full of shit, what else is new.” Lokka smacked a tankard off the table to make room to rest her elbows and hold her head in her hands. “That’s not the problem.”_

_“Then what is?”_

A group of orc warriors advanced up the road while the sentry kept his bead on Saeris, a dozen or more villagers trailing from some distance behind to observe. A towering male, swaggering with two massive cleaver-like swords in his hands, led the pack. Saeris couldn’t see his eyes beneath his wolfshead cowl, but she didn’t like the snarl on his lips. 

She raised her hands higher, emphasizing her desire for a peaceful confrontation as the lead orc marched toward her, the watery sunlight glinting off the scars on his well-worn blades. Saeris swallowed on a dry mouth and hoped her orcish had come as far in the years she and Lokka had been together as her girlfriend assured her it had.

“I am Raza’kul, Champion of the Frostwolves,” he snarled. “What are you doing here, human filth?”

“My name is Saeris Redwin. I come with a message for Dradok and-”

Raza’kul slammed one of his blades into the frostbitten earth. “You sully our tongue with your speech, human.”

Saeris rolled her eyes. She liked orcs, she really did. But Light, could they take the macho bullshit to the limit when they wanted to. “I’m sorry, which other tongues does your pea brain actually understand?” She regretted saying it as soon as it left her mouth. Not because the meathead didn’t deserve the mockery, but because she wasn’t here for herself, and she could only stab her own goal in the foot by offending the Frostwolves. 

Predictably, Raza’kul snarled and took a swing at her. It probably would have been better to relax the situation by dodging, but the blow was swift, and before her brain could say otherwise, instinct and muscle memory conspired to put her own blade in hand. She caught his sword on hers, holding the strike in place inches from her head, muscles straining against his as he tried to press the gap closed. 

She could see his eyes through the cowl now as they swept over the distinctive design of her massive weapon, the orcish runes engraved along its length, and down to where the parry had thrown her cloak back. The emblem of a flaming sword, emblazoned black on a yellow background, hung from her belt like a loincloth. 

“Burning Blade?” he growled, and pushed her back with a swipe of his second weapon. “So, those honorless dogs craft their precious weapons for your kind now, weakling?” He thrust his chin at the haft of the second sword still slung across her back. “Do you carry a spare because you drop the first one so often?”

Saeris sighed. She had taken the weapons off a Dark Horde blademaster years ago in the Burning Steppes, and wore his banner below her belt as a trophy. In hindsight, wearing them today had probably been a bad idea, but it was hardly the only thing she wished she’d done differently in this quest. “I come for Dradok, son of Karadok, and Korra, daughter of Rhexa. I bear a message from your daughter,” she called out, hoping at one last chance to diffuse the situation. A couple heads - one of the warriors, and one of the villagers - turned to look at each other as Raza’kul lunged at her.

_“I met them,” Lokka moaned into a mug of coffee. “I fought shoulder to shoulder with my father when the Thunderlords attacked Wolfhome, and he didn’t even know me. How would he? I haven’t even been born yet in this timeline. Seeing them alive again, but not knowing who I am…“ Lokka trailed off, pressing her thumb into her eye as if she could shove the tears back in._

_Saeris pushed Lokka back from the table, sat in her lap, and cradled her head against her heart until the general stopped crying._

_Saeris stroked Lokka’s hair, tenderly tracing her fingers over her lover’s scalp. “Why didn’t you tell them?”_

_Lokka scoffed. “And say what? ‘Hi, I’m your daughter from the future! Nevermind that I’m older than you, or that my skin is green! It’s just fel taint from the blood of Mannoroth! You’re both dead, but don’t worry, I killed my grandmother for revenge. These are your grandkids, who don’t know who you are, and never met their father. And I’m–” she stopped short, turning away from Saeris._

_“Sleeping with a human?” Saeris finished. She shook her head, bemused by Lokka’s shame at the cut off thought. She knew full and well that their relationship complicated the general’s life a great deal. That Lokka refused to let that stand in the way of being with Saeris was only proof of her commitment._

_But it did sting a bit._

_Lokka flushed red. “I was going to say, ‘in love with’.”_

_They talked a bit more after that, little nothings about the weather, the differences between Draenor and Outland, a moment to hug Lokka’s children goodbye. And then Saeris headed down to the stables. A few heads turned as she walked through the camp; the peons and Steamwheedle contractors who were building the fort, mostly. The regulars of General Stormhowl’s legion were quite familiar with the human mercenary who had permission to ride right into their camps, even if they weren’t all privy to the exact nature of their relationship. A few exchanged greetings with her as she passed. The Sunwalker, Doebe, was stabling her kodo as Saeris came down to retrieve her hippogryph. On the spur of the moment, Saeris approached her._

_“Hail, Mistress Redwin.” Doebe greeted her with a warm smile. “Off on another adventure?”_

_“Something like that,” Saeris said. “Hey, can I ask you something? What do the Draenor Frostwolves think of Lokka?”_

_Doebe chuckled. “Well, they love her, of course. She was the hero of the Battle of Wor’gol. You should have seen it, hundreds of mag’har chanting the name Stormhowl.”_

_“‘Stormhowl,’ or ‘Lokka Stormhowl’?”_

_The Sunwalker frowned, and tapped her chin. “Just ‘Stormhowl.’ Come to think of it, I don’t think she ever gave them her given name.”_

_Saeris harumphed, making up her mind. “Where is Wor’gol?”_

_Doebe looked at her with concern. “If you’re asking me, then you didn’t ask the general. And if you didn’t ask the general, it’s because you know she won’t tell you. And if she won’t, then I can’t, either.” She bowed, and excused herself. “Earthmother’s blessings be upon you, friend.”_

_“Fine, then,” Saeris sighed. “I’ve got my own tricks.”_

Raza’kul charged, and Saeris threw her cloak at him as she skipped sideways. He batted it aside with a growl, and changed course to keep up the attack. Saeris parried frantically, repelling his strikes with both blade and haft, until he gave her an opening. She saw through a feint, and spun, forcing him back to avoid her whirlwind of steel. Then she lunged, taking him by surprise as she loosened her hand, letting the haft fly through her grip until she caught the heavy adamantite ring at the butt, extending the reach of her thrust far past Raza’kul’s estimate. She scored a line of blood across his thigh. He roared with rage and charged, ramming her square in the chest with his shoulder and sending her flying back, landing in a heap of snow. 

“Hmph! That all you got, human?” he bellowed, brandishing his cleavers. 

Saeris picked herself up, and reached for her second sword as Raza’kul lunged. The look of surprise in his eyes was glorious when she met his blades with both of her own, dual wielding weapons made for an orc to bear in two hands. 

“Not by a long shot,” she hissed, and threw him back. Teetering off balance, it was Raza’kul’s turn to struggle at keeping up with her rampage, each raging blow coming faster than the last. The rush of excitement from battle was welling up inside her, calling for her foe’s blood, but as she sent a sword flying from Raza’kul’s hand to disappear in a snowdrift, she fought the bloodthirst down. She would go through this asshole if she had to, but she wasn’t here to make needless enemies. 

She held back, letting Raza’kul recover just enough to think he’d got an opening, and rush her without thinking about it. She caught his remaining blade between hers like a massive pair of scissors, and wrenched it aside, lining him up for a powerful kick straight to the chest. The orcish bravo went sprawling in the snow, and while he lay there dazed, she casually strode up and lay a blade against his throat. 

“Yield?” she suggested.

He glared up at her with murderous intent and spat, the wad of spittle arcing short to land on her legplates. 

Saeris sighed, and kicked him in the head, shutting him up. 

“I come for Dradok, son of Karadok, and Korra, daughter of Rhexa. I bear a message from your daughter,” she repeated. “She waits for you at Stormhowl’s Watch, in Talador.”

A murmur at the mention of the name Stormhowl rippled through the assembled orcs, and Saeris decided that was probably as good as she was going to get. She sheathed her blades, and went to retrieve her cloak to leave before someone else decided to try where Raza’kul had failed. As she stooped for it, though, an orc woman snatched it up first. Saeris met her eyes. She was a bit short for an orc, and lean in a way that suggested a harsh childhood. She quivered a bit in the icy wind, but beneath her apparent frailty, Saeris saw something familiarly unyielding. 

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Korra, daughter of Rhexa, demanded. 

Saeris smiled triumphantly. She had spent a lot of her flight here thinking about just that. “Your mother was a shaman of the Shadowmoon Clan. She never wanted you, and tortured you all your life. She told you you were weak, and worthless, and that no one would ever love you. But you were strong enough to survive her. Worthy enough to be taken in by the Frostwolves. And you found a new family that loved you.”

Saeris took her cloak from Korra, pausing before putting it on to hold her trembling hands.

“You named your daughter ‘Lokka,’ because she was your victory over Rhexa Blackheart.”

The warrior that had turned his head before rushed to Korra’s side as the orc collapsed to her knees, and Saeris took that as her cue to leave. “Stormhowl’s Watch in Talador,” she repeated, as she hurried back to her hippogryph. “She’ll be waiting.”


End file.
